


a sorta fairytale

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson loves Skye, Coulson's expressive eyes, F/M, Fix-It, Inverted fairy tale tropes, Kissing, Metaphors, Not Ward friendly, Romance, Skye is Coulson's heart, Skye is a knight in shining armor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2486300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skoulson drabble with a sort of fable theme. From Skye's POV mostly.<br/>Title from the Tori Amos song of the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a sorta fairytale

His eyes were sad.  


They could be many things. She had seen them piercing, surprised, anxious, angry, guilty. 

She missed them smiling the most. 

When you had to look into them, get a little closer to see it hiding there. She liked the mystery of it.

The feeling that it was just for her to discover.

Now there was sadness, and it, too was hiding something. But not for her discovery. It was a wall between them, these eyes.

And there was pain there, but she felt uncertainty. 

Was it for her? For himself? 

Maybe both.

It made her wonder, had she imagined everything that had passed between them?

_This would not be the first time_ , she had told herself.

If she had only been more cautious. 

But, no. Maybe, instead, more brave. 

To put into words instead of letting it hang between them in silences and long gazes.

Even if he couldn't let himself reply or wouldn't answer for the same reasons he couldn't now, at least he would know. 

It wouldn't have to sit in her chest so heavy and bottled up.

 

***

 

That man _was_ a spy, after all. 

She had not kept that in mind as she should have. 

And not just a spy, but, _the_ spy. 

That was how he had been crowned: the King without a country, a lonely coronation.

In her fantasy, she rescues him from his crumbling castle. 

She cuts away the briars and brambles that have grown up around him.

Finding him still sleeping, she kisses him awake. 

And then, he remembers.

His true self. 

The prince who inherited a cursed kingdom and instead fell under its dark spell. 

He came to break its hold but he had forgotten, being brave and stubborn.

Going in without his new heart protected. 

And so the darkness had overtaken him. 

So much so, that he couldn't even distinguish between who he was and who he became.

But she couldn't forget. 

She had seen the purity of purpose in him. Kismet is the word? 

The inevitable. The finding of what is sought for forever.

She's aware she's just as foolish and just as stubborn. 

To even pretend that what is happening resembles this fiction.

But she is prone to fantasy, and has been been since a girl. 

A coping mechanism to life's turmoil. 

She sees him, a shadow of himself, but she still sees the _him_ shining underneath it.

She wonders if he grasps it at all when she looks at him.

Sometimes she can barely meet his eyes for the sadness of them.

 

***

He comes to her. 

After.

It's not entirely unexpected. 

Part of the darkness has escaped back into the world. 

He held it there in the basement, but maybe it was its escape that made the crack in the end?

The darkness belonged out there and not within. 

She had wanted to defend his heart. 

And he had been protecting it from the darkness all along. 

By keeping it outside the walls with thorns and twisted branches.

When he comes to her, it's wordless. 

And he does look guilty. 

But there is a crack in the wall.

She can see it in his eyes.

It let the monster out, but it also lets his heart in.

They stare at each other, openly, for the first time in months upon months.

It's fitting that it's here, in the monster's cage.

She's so overwhelmed that she presses her back against the wall to hold herself up. And for a moment, she's afraid he misunderstands.

He's bloodied and bruised, and he's tired from fighting. So he lets himself fall into the chair, taking deep and even breaths. 

He presses the touchpad and the wall comes down between them. 

He had locked her in to keep the monster at bay. 

And all her fears and her anger rush to the surface like raging waters. 

Everything she had buried. 

She had been so lonely. But at least she had hope because he was alive. 

And she had told herself he was still alive, today, because she had to.

And because he was, he could survive the blunt force of her anger. 

Of her being trapped, of not being able to take her own revenge against that monster.

All her training, all the discipline in the face of his provocations and twisted mind games.

Only to be locked away.

When he gets to his feet, she wants to slap him, a part of her really does. 

But she's shaking and her heartbeat is slipping beyond her control.

It must show in her face. He's looking at her like he sees her again. 

Pulling her against him, his hand touches her hair. 

He's repeating her name like it was a forgotten memory.

And reassuring himself that this is real. 

That she is alive, too. 

She sobs against his chest. 

The state of him, anyway, it's not like he could look worse.

It's the first time they have touched like this in so long, she doesn't want to give it up.

He's stroking her hair and whispering to her. But it's not enough, she needs to be even closer.

To do what she should have done a long time ago. Risk it all, because there is nothing left to risk between them now.

She pulls herself up by the front of his shirt. His mouth tastes like a flood of adrenaline and he gasps in surprise, his hands on her arms ready to pull her away.

Then something happens. 

The world goes still, while their lips are pressed together, as his hands slide to her waist. 

Then she's in his hands and he's kissing her, all eagerness and wanting. 

They're on her hips next and he sits down on the chair pulling her down over him, hands on her face, in her hair, pressed against the middle of her back.

It becomes more gentle, less of a demand, and somewhere between a plea and a seduction.

As though he's trying to make up for all his time asleep.

She sees the smile in his eyes again and her hand reaches, like an instinct, to his heart. 

His hand joins hers, their fingers intertwining.

The details of him begin to stand out and her hand touches the side of his face, turning it, his head bruised by some impact. 

From putting himself between her and the monster.

She puts her lips against it, kissing, as he sighs. 

Fingers on the buttons of his shirt she reaches beneath it, letting her hands check his body, touching the scar over his heart.

Cuts and scrapes, but he survived. 

He's watching her intently, she knows. She can feel him, letting her explore and wondering what this might all mean exactly.

She meets his eyes again and sees his question there. Her arms are resting on his neck, his hands comfortably on her hips.

She answers by rocking her hips against him, a pleased expression on her face when his lips part in a silent groan. She does it again and he swallows sharply. He buries his face against her neck and presses her hips down into his, mouth on her pulse as she throws back her head and lets him take control.

His hand traces down her throat down between her breasts until it reaches the hem of her shirt until it disappears beneath the fabric. 

Hidden, but she can feel it all.

She's moaning or maybe sighing as he touches her so intimately, so reverently, watching every expression she makes for him. 

Drinking it in with his eyes.

The only thing he will say for the next hour to her he says then. 

_We don't belong here._

Kissing him again, understanding, she gets to her feet as he joins her, taking her hand.

She leads him up the stairs up and away, out of that place as he turns off the lights behind them.

The spell has been broken.


End file.
